


caught up here in the undertow

by perfectlyrose



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon, Shiro (Voltron) Has Anxiety, s8 doesn't exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:56:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19773436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perfectlyrose/pseuds/perfectlyrose
Summary: Sometimes a bad day hits Shiro in the face in the middle of the afternoon.Everything's fine, there's no emergencies or fires to put out, his crew is working and chatting contentedly among themselves and yet it feels like there's a void in the center of his chest all of a sudden.





	caught up here in the undertow

Sometimes a bad day hits Shiro in the face in the middle of the afternoon. 

Everything's fine, there's no emergencies or fires to put out, his crew is working and chatting contentedly among themselves and yet it feels like there's a void in the center of his chest all of a sudden.

Nothing's wrong, or at least nothing tangible is wrong, but the good mood of the last several hours has been torn away without ceremony or warning. The roil of anxiety and cold creep of sadness takes its place and Shiro struggles to keep his professional mask in place and not immediately seek out somewhere quiet to curl up.

The moment his shift is over, Shiro transfers command over to his relief with a grimace masquerading as a smile and bypasses the mess hall in favor of making directly for his quarters. He keeps his head down, avoiding the gaze and potential greetings of anyone in the hallways as he walks.

He feels like he might shatter at a well-meaning question right now.

Shiro sags against the door as soon as he's inside, eyes closed against the reality that he probably has dishes in the sink and no food in the fridge.

He just wants to stop for a bit, step out of the flow of his life until this feeling goes away, until it no longer feels like the emptiness is eating him alive and drowning him all at once.

He takes a breath, fighting against the heavy weight of it all, and lets it back out. Moving seems out of the question when even breathing evenly is a struggle, so he stays slumped against the door for another few breaths.

"Shiro? Did I hear you come in?"

Shiro drags his eyes open in time to see Keith walk out of the bedroom running a towel over his hair and obviously fresh from the shower. He has on one of Shiro’s t-shirts and what he refers to as his lounging leggings, the ones with a hole in the seat and wearing thin at the knees.

Shiro dredges up a smile for him but it feels brittle at best. Keith sees right through it.

Keith hums quietly as he drops his towel by the doorway and comes to wrap Shiro in a hug. It's firm and warm and grounding, even as Keith's hair makes his uniform jacket damp.

"One of those days?" Keith guesses.

Shiro just nods. Speaking might send him over the edge right now.

Keith turns his head and presses a light kiss to Shiro's shoulder before pulling back. "Okay, why don’t you go change into pajamas while I figure out dinner, yeah?"

Shiro really just wants to collapse on the couch immediately, but he knows he'll be comfier if he listens.

"Okay," he manages to say. Keith squeezes his shoulder and then steps out of reach.

The walk to the bedroom is short -- quarters aboard the Atlas aren’t large by any stretch of the imagination, even for the Captain -- but it seems like the distance stretches out endlessly. Shiro strips out of his uniform once he’s there with jerky motions and folds it on autopilot before pulling on the sweats and tank top he'd left on the bed this morning.

Shiro eyes the bed longingly, but he knows if he lays down he won't get back up this evening, not with the emptiness clawing at him. He sighs and lets the soft sounds of Keith putting a pan on the stove and digging in the fridge lure him back out.

Keith looks over his shoulder as Shiro shuffles back into the living area. "Go get settled on the couch, sweetheart. I put that blanket you like out. Came back from the laundry today.” He pops the lid to a jar of sauce. “Dinner will be ready in twenty. Found some pasta to make."

"Sounds good," Shiro says and the smile he manages this time is softer, less of a shield and more genuine affection. "Thank you."

Keith just smiles and turns back to the stove.

Shiro makes the short trek to the couch and finds his favorite blanket, deep blue and softer than anything, draped over the arm.

He folds himself into the corner of the couch, knees tucked up to his chest. Shiro wraps himself in the blanket's soft warmth, pulling it all the way up to his chin.

The sad-anxious-empty-bad feeling still swirls inside him, but the scent of fresh detergent from the blanket and fragrant garlic from whatever magic Keith is working, soothes it just a bit, makes it a little less heavy against his sternum.

He takes a deep breath and tries to focus through the fog that’s clouding his brain.

He knows that Keith will bring him a plate when dinner is ready and put on an episode of one of the cheesy alien rom-coms that Shiro likes and he just tolerates. He knows Keith will sit pressed up against him as they eat but won’t ask to share the blanket, even if he’s cold.

He also knows that Keith will make sure Shiro’s blanket is securely tucked in around him and press a kiss to his forehead before taking the dishes to the kitchen. He knows Keith will spoon up behind him and hold him when they eventually go to bed.

He knows that Keith will just quietly make him feel so very loved, even when Shiro feels more void than person. He'll hold Shiro gentler on these days when Shiro feels so fragile, but he never lets go, and it means Shiro always knows he'll find the other side of this feeling.

Shiro knows all of this, so he clenches his hands in the soft material of his blanket and listens to Keith mumble in the kitchen and breathes until the clawing ache abates just the slightest bit and Keith is in front of him with a plate of something resembling spaghetti and the warmest smile.

He might not be fine, exactly, right now, but he will be, and Keith will be here no matter what.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a [thread over on my twitter](https://twitter.com/LionessNapping/status/1149176461242359809?s=20) born out of my own anxiety flaring up.
> 
> you can find me on twitter @LionessNapping


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